Mrs. Freestone never made an appearance at the Ponderosa that day, much to my disappointment and I found the afternoon trying and enervating but the food was delicious. Hop Sing had prepared a light luncheon of sliced cold meats, sliced Stilton and freshly baked sourdough loaves in case anyone cared to make a sandwich. Hoss insisted that pots of mustard—a condiment that had to be imported and was therefore expensive, and bowls of horseradish sauce be included. Hop Sing's pies, cakes and cookies were on the sideboard and we must have gone through gallons of coffee and two large pitchers of buttermilk. Hop Sing spent most of his time in the kitchen washing glasses, cups, saucers and plates so they could be used again. I would occasionally step into the kitchen as the afternoon went on and help dry since I began to doubt that Mrs. Freestone was going to show in our parlor.

All the women who attended the reception, married or single, had brought a covered dish as was the custom. They placed their food dishes on the table and one woman even had the audacity to place her frosted cake on the sideboard amid Hop Sing's desserts. Hop Sing sniffed with disdain at the food and muttered to himself in Chinese.

"What's wrong, Hop Sing?" I asked with feigned ignorance.

"What wrong? All this food! Have to throw out! Why women have to bring food, not know-such a waste. Bah!" He made a dismissive motion with his hands.

"But look, Hop Sing. No one's eating their food—only yours. See?"

Hop Sing looked at the food, then at me and smiled. "You right, Mistah Adam."

"We'll send the other dishes and such home with Mariette and if she doesn't want them, well, you can feed them to the pigs."

"Hummpf," Hop Sing snorted. "Think pigs turn backs—even Ponderosa garbage taste better." I laughed and Hop Sing went back to the kitchen, his pride restored.

It was late afternoon, about an hour before dusk when the last visitor left offering their consolations again to Mariette. Then I took her home after placing a few of the untouched food dishes on the back floorboard of the two-seater buggy. The rest of the crockery, once Hop Sing had dumped the contents and washed them, we would take to church next Sunday for people to claim their platters and bowls.

When I took her home, Mariette and I rode to Virginia City in silence but it was a comfortable silence so when she did speak, it jarred me out of my musings. I had been wondering if Mrs. Freestone was actually a courtesan whose charms Jason Blaine had relished despite being married to lovely Mariette. Granted, Mariette was no longer the dewy bride and during her seven year marriage to Jason, she had suffered two miscarriages and the death of an 8 month old infant whom they had named Benjamin after my father. Her face now had deeply-etched worry lines and showed the sadness and stress she had suffered. Her hair had lost its glossiness and her cheeks, their rosiness. But that's the way of the world and when a man marries a woman, he expects it. Women out here seemed to age so much faster than men and their burden is worse. My father always said that and I believe him even more now.

"Mrs. Freestone didn't show," Mariette said. "Did you notice?" Mariette pulled the afghan around her tighter. Since it was colder now that the sun was so close to setting, I had pulled an afghan out of the chest and wrapped it around her for the ride home.

"Yes," I replied. "She'll probably leave town now."

"What if she doesn't?"

"Then she doesn't." I realized that my response had been not only curt but unsympathetic. "I didn't mean to sound so unfeeling." Mariette smiled gently at me. And I hoped to make amends. "Would you like me to speak to her if she's still in town?"

"Yes…if you don't mind doing that. I've wanted to go see her myself but I don't know how to approach her. Will you go see her, Adam-ask her what she means to do and why she…impoverished us?"

"I'll go see her after I take you home." I was relieved; now I didn't have to debate with myself whether or not I should go see the mysterious Mrs. Freestone-I would see her and my overt intentions were honorable. My prurient motivations need never be revealed.

~ 0 ~

Mariette's jealousy of Mrs. Freestone hadn't caused her to exaggerate Mrs. Freestone's beauty—if anything, she understated it and underestimated its effect on a man. When Mrs. Freestone opened the hotel door at my knock still wearing the black dress she had worn at the funeral, she looked far more like the Madonna than any whore of Babylon. And she was glorious.

"Yes?" She looked at me, her eyes large and dark.

I was taken aback—her presence had practically knocked the breath from me-and I barely managed to answer. "Are you Mrs. Freestone?"

"Yes." She looked at me carefully, her hand still on the doorknob. "You were at the funeral beside Mrs. Blaine."

"Yes. My name is Adam Cartwright."

"You two looked…very close." A small smile played about her mouth—and a lovely mouth it was. I wondered if she often gave a man pleasure with those full, lush lips and if she did, I couldn't blame Jason. Hell, I'd empty my pockets and probably my bank account as well just to have her work on me.

"Mariette—that's Mrs. Blaine's first name—is like a sister to me."

"Of course, she is." I had the definite impression she doubted my veracity. "What do you want Mr. Cartwright? Have you come to finish Jason's business?"

"I don't know because I'm ignorant as to what that business was." I took off my hat. "May I come in?"

She stood and thought for a moment. "Yes, I suppose so." She stepped aside and I walked past her into the hotel room—not their best room but far from their cheapest rooms which were more like sleeping in a closet. But her room was nice and was warm, the stove in the corner heating up the room nicely. On the bed was an open portmanteau and it looked as if she had been packing as one of the drawers of the highboy was open.

"Look as if you're packing to leave."

"Yes, I am. Now what do you want, Mr. Cartwright?" She faced me and sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress rose slightly around her.

I briefly wondered if Mrs. Freestone would allow me to gently push her on her back and toss up her skirts. How much would that cost me, I wondered? But instead I said, "Jason Blaine was giving you money. He has almost wiped out their bank account for you."

"It's no concern of yours."

"You were at the funeral, Mrs. Freestone. Jason must have meant something to you. So why were you there?"

"To make certain he was dead and not up to his old ways of finding an avenue of escape to avoid paying back those he swindled. Suffice it to say, Jason had yet to make total reparations before he died."

"Mrs. Freestone, what was the business between the two of you? Mariette has a right to know. After all, he was her husband and they loved each other."

"As I said, it's none of your business. Now, I have to finish packing." She stood up and smoothed her skirts.

I stood as well, still holding my hat. "I can, of course find out about you with a bit of investigation and if I can't, I can hire a Pinkerton man to do it. Now let's save both of us some trouble and be honest. Why was Jason Blaine paying you? Were you blackmailing him?"

She laughed delightedly and I was taken by surprise. "Of course, Mr. Cartwright. Do you think Jason Blaine would have repaid me one single penny if I didn't have something on him?"

"You were going to tell Mariette about the two of you, weren't you? You and Jason were lovers." The last word left a bad taste in my mouth. The idea of Jason Blaine groaning loudly in satisfaction between the white thighs of such a delicate beauty as Mrs. Freestone inflamed me; I wanted her for myself.

"Lovers?" She laughed again. "No, not at all—although I did consider it at one time years ago. He was a handsome man, after all. Then I realized what he was and, well, let's just say that any attraction he may have held for me dissolved."

Without her invitation, I sat back down and crossed my legs, balancing my hat on my knee—waiting. It seemed that she was going to tell me about their relationship and I found I was relieved that she and Jason hadn't been lovers and it wasn't just for Mariette's sake. Mrs. Freestone sat back down on the bed and looked at me with the oddest expression on her face that I couldn't decipher. It was a cross between amusement and attraction—at least that's what it seemed to me.

"Shall I call the desk clerk to have you removed from my room?" It was a threat but by the look in her eyes, the amusement and the small smile on that beautiful mouth, I knew she wouldn't follow through.

"If you like, but you would be passing up a chance to get the rest of the money you say he owes you. Mariette is the closest thing to a sister to me as I'll ever have-as I told you-and she is devastated at the loss of Jason but it's been compounded by the fact that she thinks that you're…" I didn't want to tell her that Mariette thought she was a common whore. "…that you and Jason were in love."

Mrs. Freestone laughed again, throwing her head back which only exposed her white, elegant neck and throat. Then she recovered herself but continued to smile; she was amused. "Does she think that Jason was paying me for my 'love'? Does your charming Mariette, your dear, sweet 'sister' think such a thing?" She leaned toward me. "Do you think so, Mr. Cartwright? Do you think I'm a whore?"

Mrs. Freestone was a conundrum; she appeared cool and distant but obviously she was worldly. And yet she looked unsullied, untouched by anything sordid. Nevertheless, she spoke as no woman of good society would. I chuckled at her question. "Part of me hopes you are a whore and that you're not too expensive. But then there's the part of me that hopes that you're a respectable woman who will have dinner with me tomorrow night so that we can arrive at a…solution."

"I suppose you'll never know, Mr. Cartwright, as I'm packing to leave. I plan to be on my way back to Sacramento tomorrow."

I didn't want her to leave so I offered the only thing that might convince her to stay—the prospect of more money. "How much more does Jason Blaine owe you? At least to your calculations."

"Three hundred dollars-at least."

I stood up and Mrs. Freestone, surprised, stood as well. "Stay in town," I said. "I'm taking Mrs. Blaine to the bank tomorrow to discuss her finances." I had considered that if the money was needed, shares could be cashed in. Jason owned part of a silver mine—not a large part but my father had given the couple shares for a wedding present. They were in Jason's name and the mine had done well, very well, but I kept that piece of information from Mrs. Freestone. "I'll know how things stand tomorrow and if it there's not enough to settle things with you, then I'll do so, but not without something from you that assures me it's an actual debt-not just some grievance that you feel needs cash to be absolved."

"All right, Mr. Cartwright. I'll meet you downstairs in the restaurant at…shall we say 8:00?"

"8:00 it is. I look forward to seeing you again." I put on my Stetson. "I'll let myself out."

All the way home I barely felt the cold. The wind calmed after the sun had set and the stars glistened in the black sky. It was a waxing moon, the time for new beginnings. Mrs. Freestone was a herald for what was to come—I felt it. My life had changed from the moment I saw her still figure at the funeral. Whether the change was for the better or worse, I didn't know at the time and thank God we can't see what lies ahead or we would never move forward, frozen in the knowledge that grief was nigh. But then we would be denying ourselves great joy as well but it's not really a fair trade.